Gone Home
by Resnic
Summary: Akihiko begins to question his relationship with Misaki. Some angst, whump, and a lot of miscommunication.
1. Chapter 1

"Have you ever thought about how your relationship started?" Isaka asked the pale haired author as he lifted a mug of hot coffee to his lips. The warmth of the sun was filtering through the large pane of glass they were sitting against. The writer twirled his own cup with his fingers absent mindedly, squinting towards the busy street in front of the café.

"What about it?" he huffed.

"Well, you say that he's hesitant, he has trouble… admitting things to you. Do you think- did you-"

"Out with it, Isaka."

The publicist sighed, placing his cup down and leaning forward. "You can be very forceful, Akihiko."

A deep and angry frown passed over his coworker's face. "Are you saying he isn't genuine, that he's being forced by me to stay?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders as if to shake off something bothersome.

Isaka shook his head, his brown hair shaking. "All I'm saying is there is a part of you that can be scary, Akihiko. When you don't get what you want, well, you always get what you want. And frankly, others tend to lose out."

The manager was expecting backlash, maybe a sneer or look of distaste, but it never came. Instead he watched his friend's face work, and then solidify into stone.

"Thank you." He said simply and a matter of factly, as he sat back in his chair.

"Listen, let's not talk about this anymore. Aikawa wants you to finish the book in less than 3 weeks, and I want you to attend a few fundraisers before the end of the month. You've got a busy schedule this month. Better not make it more complicated, eh? Sometimes you think too hard when you should be living your life. What's done is done. Look forward to tomorrow. We can't afford to extend the release date for this. It's important, Akihiko."

Akihiko Usami said nothing at first, still stuck in whatever cog of thought he was focusing on, and then seemed to let it go. "Alright. You'll both have your book, and your dates. Give them to me by tomorrow and I'll be there. Thanks for lunch."

He grabbed his coat, patted his friend on the shoulder and walked out into the open street.

* * *

Usami worried about all the wrong things. Deadlines he could handle, awkward conversations, bad dates, an overbearing father, easy. There was always one puzzle he could never solve and it made him worry immensely, and that puzzle's name was Misaki Takahashi. They had been together for nearly 4 years, and he loved that shrimp dearly; more than anything in fact, which made him worry. Out of all that time that he hugged, kissed, spoke sweet words and insults to, made love to, molested-

His brain jeered back. Surely that wasn't it, was it?

'You always get what you want, Akihiro" Isaka had said.

He clenched his jaw as he took a turn in his car onto the main street, driving a little faster than he knew he ought.

Misaki, after all the time they had spent together, still had trouble saying it. Still became shy, mad, nervous even, about loving him, both publicly and privately. He didn't mind it, it was his way after all, but he'd expected that the young editor would have grown out of it after so long.

'Am I pushing him too hard? Am I hurting him? Still?' He asked himself. For as much love as he had for the young man, there was the smallest amount of sadness Usami kept with him at all times. He just wanted a little bit more. Just a little bit more, and that would be enough.

'You've taken enough from him. The kid's a train wreck of a speaker- maybe he just doesn't know how to get out." The intrusive thought burned. He shook it from his mind as he parked his sports car outside the apartment building.

'Maybe talk to him about it, give him some room. But be nice.- No that kid would never tell me the truth even if he knew how.'

Riding up in the elevator, his heart panged off and on, as he realized he was nervous going to his own apartment. It had been slowly growing inside of him for the past couple weeks, and now he saw it for what it was.

He gave a harsh laugh as the doors opened and he walked down the hall, his feet patting over the carpet floor. ' if only he knew.'

He stuck the key into the apartment door and turned.

"Misaki- I'm home."

"Ah, Usagi-san, how was your meeting? Are you still hungry? I'm making curry."

Akihiko smiled widely and sauntered into the kitchen, placing his hands on the editor's boyish sides. The young man immediately began to stiffen.

"Usagi-san! Come on, I'm cooking-" He ducked away with the ladle and gave the tall writer a reproachful stare. In turn, Akihiro's features deflated and he simply nodded.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Usami said, internally bristling. He released the young man and made his way over to the sofa where he dropped all his weight unceremoniously onto the cushions. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath. His feet hurt, his eyes hurt, everything hurt and he was happy to be at the end of a long day.

"Have some deadlines coming up and some travel. Looks to be a busy month." He said off-handedly, trying to clear the air.

"Make sure to budget out your time- I don't want to live through another last week." Misaki sulked from the kitchen.

Usami gave a gruff noise in acknowledgement, brushing his hand through his hair. Last week wasn't ideal. It was a busy season for publishing and was the one time of the year where late nights were inevitable. He had been burning the candle at both ends over the past few weeks and he could more than feel it. All-nighters used to be a lot easier when he was in his twenties. As it was, he couldn't remember the last time he had sat downstairs. Usami spotted what looked to be a middle-aged bouquet of roses sitting in front of him on the coffee table. Leaning forward and examining the arrangement, his fingers found the inside of the embossed tag. It had been scribbled out, but he could still make out the indented message:

_'Hope to see you soon. Had a lovely time, thanks for the help.'_ There was a doodle of a chef blowing kisses in the right-hand corner. An electric surge of rage ran through the author's body. "That son of a bitch." he whispered under his breath, dropping the small card and reaching for a cigarette. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he fidgeted through the pack. He could feel under all the rage, his heart gradually sinking.

_'Why is he so naïve.'_ Usami wondered to himself, lifting a flame in his hand and inhaling a ungodly amount of much needed nicotine. An ugly feeling spoke up, deep down where his heart had sunk to, '_Maybe you're not what he wants.'_ it said.

"I see you saw Ijuuin." He said loudly, crossing his legs, casually.

Usami heard Misaki drop the ladle with a clatter into the pot.

"Uh- yeah. It was just for the office, they wanted me to pick up some manuscripts, and we ended up getting some food. It was nothing."

The writer could feel his jaw tighten. He took a moment and calmed himself down.

"Oh." He simply huffed, taking another delicious inhale of his cigarette- like a long lost friend.

"Hey, idiot! What do you think you're doing! You told me you were quitting!" Misaki yelled.

"I'll quit next week."

The young man stormed over and before Usami could take another breath, the cigarette and the pack were snatched from him. The boys stare was almost belligerent. Wide eyed, fierce, but most of all, caring. The young man could have asked for anything as long as he looked at him like that, oh how it made his heart melt.

"What are you smiling about, you're going to kill yourself with these. You've made it two days!" Misaki scolded.

Usami's smile got even wider. "That you know of."

Misaki's face became grave, "You need to stop this awful habit, it's going to kill you one day."

Suddenly, long arms rushed out and encased the younger man, dragging him onto the couch. They were warm, and though strong, their touch had an immense amount of gentleness to them.

"Does it mean that much to you?" Usami whispered, looking into the younger man's immense green eyes that were still filled with dismay.

"Yes. Now let go, the food is still cooking on the stove." Misaki mumbled.

Usami sighed, the glowing expression he had on his face now leaking away into something more subdued.

"Alright then, for you." He said simply. His nested arms opened, freeing the young man to do what he pleased. Misaki seemed taken aback. He wasn't used to being caught and released. It felt alien.

"Usami-san… Are you feeling ok?" he felt the man's forehead.

"Give me a cigarette and I'll tell you."

Misaki gave him a disapproving look. "I'm serious. You don't look so hot."

"Kind of you to say. Maybe I'm low on Misaki."

The young man looked at him with disappointment. Usami loosened, letting out a heavy sigh or resignation.

He gave Misaki a weak smile, shoulders loosening. "You're probably right. I don't think I have much of an appetite, I'm going to go lie down."

Misaki made a noise of acknowledgement. The writer pushed himself sluggishly off the couch and gently placed a ruffling hand on the young man's head and the two parted.

The truth was that Usami hadn't had a smoke in 4 days. His nerves seemed frayed and almost every sound, smell, and sentence felt like a heavy animal stepping onto his skull. Closing the door behind him gave him the sound of relief. He looked at his writing desk, hearing the hum of his computer. Countless times he would sit in that chair and write for blissful hours. He sat gently into his desk chair. Placing his long hands onto the keyboard he began to stare into the nothingness of a blank page. It was there again, that feeling- the one he just couldn't shake. It ate away at his insides quietly; knowing that he could ignore it less and less as each day passed.

'You can be quite forceful-' He couldn't get it out of his head. They had been together for years and yet Misaki still couldn't say it, the one thing that meant the world to the author. His forehead decided to join his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning felt like any other, except to Usami. His nerves were still frayed from last night, accompanied by a feeling that was clawing at him from the inside out. 'You know,' it said, 'you're just afraid to accept it.' And it was right.

"Misaki," Usami began. The young man's name came out of the his mouth like sand. Heavy and reluctant.

"Hmm?" Those emerald green eyes stared blankly at the writer. He was on his way to the kitchen with a cookbook in hand, but Usami had lightly stopped him. He took the book Misaki had been holding and set it aside, as if trying to prepare them both for what was about to come.

"Do you actually love me?"

A visible bristling traveled up Misaki's spine as he began to stammer; the words coming out of his mouth were both out of order and directionless.

"I- well- Look, don't be stupid..."

"No." Usami said plainly, shaking his head slowly. "Not this time, I need to hear it."

"Look- we've been through this, I mean-"

Usami waited. The words didn't matter, they never did. All that he could see in those large green eyes was panic, discomfort, and shame. He supposed it had been there all along and he had just chosen not to see it, like so many times before. Didn't want to see it, but there it was, plain as day. An answer that didn't need words.

As Misaki continued to try to bob and weave his way through what must have seemed like his own personal minefield, Usami lifted a hand, gently gesturing him to stop. The least he could do was finally end the young man's distress. A short but heavy silence fell between them.

The brunette looked annoyed. "What's gotten into you?"

Whatever emotion was running through Akihiko had grown inside him exponentially. He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a simple, quiet sentence.

"Misaki- I can't do this anymore."

The young man froze, as if the blood in his body had come to a halt.

* * *

Five months passed. The days grew short and the nights cold. Akihiko found himself like any other night, in an empty bed. He replaced sleep with alcohol and sometimes alcohol with work. He had been traveling for the past two months on a book tour and had just touched down to Tokyo. It had filled his time nicely, but now he was left alone with the wreckage of those five words he spoke so long ago. He didn't quite know what had felt worse, the dread and uncertainty from then, or the sheer agony he was in now.

He raised himself out of his bed, restless and angry at his own body for not letting him experience a moment of peace. His apartment was definitely empty, but it felt haunted to him. He felt haunted no matter where he went these days, if he had to be honest. Just when he thought he could distract himself enough, fill his time with the things that normal people did, that he would feel relief. But it never lasted. That feeling always seemed to patiently wait for him in every corner of every room he found himself in. He pulled on his shirt and pants. Grabbing his keys, he decided that for tonight, he'd try to outrun it.

As he turned off the highway and onto ramp; the lights of his car illuminated an immeasurably small part of the all-encompassing night. He remembered the look of disbelief that Misaki had given him, hearing those simple five words, an ordinary sentence that ended up being immeasurably heavy. There were tears in those large green eyes when he had asked for clarification, "What do you mean?"

'His voice had been so small', he thought to himself, his foot grinding into the gas pedal.

It had hurt so much to say it the first time, 'what would it be like to say it again?'

"What are you saying?" Misaki repeated.

"This is for the best." 'Who's best? Certainly not mine.' he had thought at the time, but he had made up his mind to set the young man finally free.

There wasn't much after that. There was so much pain, and Misaki never kept more than a suitcase worth of belongings. It was over before he had a moment to process what he'd done.

Just like that, with those simple words, Misaki was out of his life forever, and just like that, Akihiko's sports car abruptly stopped.

He raised his head off the steering wheel and rested the overwhelming weight of his body back against the seat. He could hear the creaking of heated metal popping and cooling, as the flares someone had placed on the road hissed and filled the darkness with the visual hum of red. 'Where was he, how did he get here?' His head began to throb and his body began to ache. The more time he spent awake, the more the waves of pain washed over him. He reached up to his forehead to feel a growing wetness.

'Shit.' He looked around. The hood of his sports car had folded back onto itself, its usual mass, replaced by a sizable tree. A steady stream of smoke billowed through the air as the sound of a siren bellowing far off in the distance.  
In that moment, Akihiko could only think about how he would kill for a cigarette.


	3. Chapter 3

Misaki sighed, looking at the stacks of contracts that had been unceremoniously dumped onto his desk. "You've got to be kidding me." It was already evening and he had been planning to get an early head start out. The office was emptying at its slow pace. The sound of laughter that came with the winding down of a long day between coworkers came from up and down the corridors. He placed his head for a moment in his hands and rubbed his eyes in fatigue.

When he pulled his palms away, he could see that a pair of tall legs had appeared behind the mound of folders.

"You look like you could use a hand." a warm voice said. Looking up, Misaki finally recognized that it was Ijuuin; the young man ricocheting upwards in a flustered embarrassment.

"Ijuuin, hey. What are you still doing here?"

"Just got out of my last meeting and thought I'd drop by. Seems like you're literally in over your head. I should find the culprit and give them a talking to." The dark haired artist said, visibly displeased. After the grueling day that Misaki just had, he found himself more than a little appreciative of the man's friendly tone.

"What do you mean you won't be able to make it-" a voice cut through the air. Misaki and Ijuuin's heads turned to follow Aikawa who was rushing down the hallway, looking irate. Her rapidly clicking heels came to an halt. "Where are you?- hello- please, wait." Her words raced into the phone receiver. "Yes- yes. Alright, thank you very much."

Ijuuin turned back to Misaki, "Seems like you're not the only one who has their hands full, tonight. When does all of this have to be done?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, by tomorrow morning. I just have to filter through all of these contract clauses." Misaki sighed.

Ijuuin smiled warmly and without warning, removed the bag from his shoulder, and pulled up a chair next to the young man. "Give me half of those." he said, gesturing to the pile, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

Misaki's face looked over in disbelief. "Ijuuin, I can't ask you to look through these- I'm sure you have better things to do. I wouldn't want to keep you-"

"You worry too much. Let's get you home tonight, ok?" Ijuuin said. "If you want to make it up to me, why don't you come to the company banquet tomorrow night. I've been bullied into going and I think I'll die of boredom if you don't show. Just consider it. But first thing's first, what have we got?"

* * *

Akihiko stared up at the sterile ceiling of the emergency room. He could think of better ways to be spending his time. Smoking, drinking, writing for starters. Maybe he should develop other hobbies, any one of those things would probably kill him, eventually. A screech met his ears that made his heart skip farther into his chest.

"Akihiko Usami, what the hell are you doing here! What happened! Are you ok?" Aikawa ran in and surveyed the man up and down, her long nails dragging across the sides of her face in worry.

"I haven't seen you look at me like that since I handed you my last manuscript." Usami gritted with a smile. The doctor entered. "Good evening, we're a little short-handed tonight, so congratulations young lady, you've been enlisted. Do me a favor and hold his right arm down."

"Me?" Aikawa sounded in disbelief.

"No one else in here." The doctor said nonchalantly. She swallowed and put her purse down.

"Now this one will hurt, but it'll be over in a second. Hold still." The doctor said. Aikawa grabbed onto Akihiko's hand. It was freezing and clammy.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

With a surprisingly quick movement for such an older man, the physician yanked Akihiko's shoulder back into place with a loud pop." Aikawa looked on in terror, as the author went rigid from pain, an inhuman noise escaping his lips. The little color he had possessed, drained out of his face.

"Yes yes, well let's hope you never have to do that again. Your wrist is another matter, but with a cast, you should be up and running in another 6 weeks. Concussion symptoms should last you a week, tops. You driving him?" the doctor asked Aikawa.

It took her a moment to shake her gaze from the overwhelmed expression still written over writer's face.

"ye- yes."

"Excellent. No driving for you for a while, eh? Doesn't sound like you could do it well before so no loss there. Take these up to the counter once you're dressed."

The doctor handed Aikawa a prescription slip and left as unceremoniously as he had come.

"Fucking doctors." Akihiko reeled.

* * *

Akihiko struggled to find a pack of cigarettes anywhere in Aikawa's car.

"You're an idiot," She said to him, her eyes filling with tears. He looked at her with mild curiosity.

"You're selfish." Her words cut were cutting into him in a way they hadn't in the past. Akihiko looked at her face that was drawn tight, eyes intently staring at the traffic lights coming from the road ahead of them. Her thin fingers, white knuckled along the steering wheel.

"Do you want to die?" It was an abrupt question. She stole a glance at him as his frame seemed to subtly press more towards the passenger door. There was nowhere, however, for him to go.

"Listen to me, Akihiko." Her words fell on his ears like hammers. "Don't you ever, ever make me do this again. I mean it." He knew she meant it.

"It's not like I planned to hit a tree-"

"Are you sure about that? Because it sure wasn't planning on hitting you. I knew you were thick in the head, but never this dumb. What's going on with you? Is this about-"

"Don't." he interrupted. He wouldn't look at her but took her silence for understanding.

For a moment, the only sound between them was the traffic.

"You know believe it or not," she began once more, her tone softening considerably, "there are people who really care about you. Despite how lazy, and insufferable, and worrisome you can be, I care about you. If something worse would have happened tonight, I would have lost more than an author."

"Listen, I'm grateful that you came, but you're making my head split even more than it already was. If you could just drop me off, I'll contact you next week."

She shook her head, an expression on her face that said she should have known better.

"You think just because you have a concussion that you get out of this scot-free? Noooo, no. That's not how this works. I don't care if you're on your last leg, you are going to be at that company party tomorrow night, and you are going to smile, and be the charming self so many more-fortunate people than myself, know you as."

"I just did that book tour for you, you're being impossible."

"You're the one I have to chauffeur around in the middle of the night because you rammed yourself against a tree. You don't show up to meetings, you don't return calls. You don't have any say in this. I'll have you picked up at 8. Besides...I think it would be good for you."

"I don't want to go," he began to protest but she cut him off. "This isn't negotiable. As long as you can stand on your own two feet, you're going."

"I can't go, the doctor told me my legs are also broken."

"Real cute."

He began to shake his head in frustration and found out that was a terrible idea, so instead he placed it carefully back and let the sound of traffic fill his ears. Why she enjoyed putting him through these nightmares, he decided he'd never figure out.


End file.
